


One Person, One Set

by aireagoir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU with wings, Friendship/Love, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aireagoir/pseuds/aireagoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if you could SEE how you are loved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Person, One Set

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Book_freak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_freak/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wings 2 - The Second One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6724228) by [Book_freak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_freak/pseuds/Book_freak). 



> This ficlet is a gift for Book_Freak, for the wonderfully inventive series Wings. I don't own the characters or the concept, it was a beautiful idea and I hope s/he enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it for him/her.

 

 

“I can do this all day.”

Those were the first words the future Captain America pointed at some bullies that James Buchanan Barnes ever heard. Coming as they were from the far corner of the alley behind the grocery store, he couldn’t imagine anything good was happening. Sure enough, the bullies were using the two-to-hold, third to punch routine that made Barnes see red even _thinking_ about it. Seeing it? Forget it. He was already halfway down the alley, screaming at them to let go of the kid, before he had caught up with the ringleader and watched his own hand flying across his smirking, ugly mug. That was a good start. He ran the three of them off before they could get any more physical damage in, but of course they couldn’t stop with the name calling. Barnes walked towards them again, this time letting his wingspan puff up around him, giving him the appearance of a large beast. A predator that would use his wings in combat if he must. He wouldn’t…but they didn’t know that. His wings were practically made for the military; they came in different colors depending on where he was at the change of the seasons. Right now they were a dark olive and brown that you’d lose in a forest in seconds flat.

He turned his attention to the sickly blond boy that was more or less on his own two feet, eyes glazed over as he said, through a split lip, something rich about having them on the ropes. “Bucky.” That was all he said as he extended a hand to the boy, who replied “Steve Rogers,” mumbling through his lip and trying not to stare. Bucky’s wings were…expansive. Good god, he looked like he could cover the alley; shroud them in darkness under his brown wings, with beautiful silvery green strands in his feathers, especially those closest to his body. This boy, he was loved, admired, he was _mighty_. He was every single thing Steve Rogers would be if he was given half a chance. As it was, there were no wings to speak of on Steve, except the very delicate blue plumage that was soft and gave his wings their most basic shape. That made Bucky smile. To get plumage that soft, so downy and tender, that was a mother’s love. He had that then, this new friend he had acquired in the alley. Better get his friend patched up before his ma ripped that soft, downy plumage right off both their hides.

“What you do to get them so mad?”

“They took all of Maggie McDonald’s pencils and pens and threw ‘em around. She was crying. I don’t think they understand she doesn’t have money to buy any new ones. They’re just jerks.”

“Yeah. Did she get them back?”

“I gathered up as many as I could. That was what set Daley off. He’s the one who was punching me.”

Neither of them could have known, but Maggie had a new sheen on a few of her feathers, a few bright pink ones courtesy of the smaller boy who had tried his best. It was real nice Steve had tried, but sadly, Maggie was… she didn’t say the word, even in her head. She was what nasty people called _a stunter_. She couldn’t use her love to make other people’s wings grow. She tried and tried. That was the real reason she was crying at Daley, he said that awful word. The pencils, too, she guessed, as she laid down and wept.

**

In no time, it seemed, Steve and Bucky could sit and laugh for hours, doing nothing. Steve couldn’t play outside, and Bucky always, always had some reason today was better indoors. It was too hot, the sun was at weird angles, his knee was playing up. One thing he did, and he tried to not tell Steve ever, was he’d made excuses to check on his back. His lungs were a great excuse, but, to be honest, Bucky was always disappointed. He tried to sneak extra candy from the drug store, he tried setting up tickets to see a movie, all of it was fun. He thought they were friends. He knew there was a whole new set of feathers on top, just from the time he spent with Steve. But…Steve’s wings never grew. They never filled out. Like his chest, and his lungs, no amount of care could improve them. The thicker, more adult feathers, where were they? Bucky began to wonder if this was a way of saying Steve didn’t want to be his friend. Didn’t care about him at all. He couldn’t believe it though, not really. Not when Steve looked at him liked he hung the damn moon. By the time they were teens it was clear you could never have one without the other. StevenBucky—one word. You got two for the price of one, yet still Steve’s wings never grew, filled out. He hid them at all costs, aware they were proof he was somehow deficient. He couldn’t receive or give love as a normal person could, thus the stunted and permanently child-like wings.

At 15, Steve’s Ma died. His wings molted away. Black, curled up, like ashes. Bucky cried to see his friend have nothing left. He was wingless—something only the worst, the most evil, the outcasts and rejects should face. Why was a good man, with so much to offer, with the proper physical structure for wings, simply not able to grow them? Bucky would cover him at night, shield him with his own, saying it didn’t matter. “I can cover us, I can defend us, you watch. We don’t need four wings. One person, one set.” It did matter though. He couldn’t be there every minute. He stole two of the bulkiest sweaters he could find at Feinman’s and brought them back. Bulk would cover up the loss of the wings, plus help him when Steve was so sick. He knew Stevie wouldn’t wear nothing stolen, he took off the tags and “pulled them out of the charity bin” at St. Paul’s. It was true. If you came in and said a prayer, then took a pamphlet about Our Lord and Saviour, they’d let you rummage through whatever people had donated. People donated real nice stuff if the person they bought them for rejected them, or died. So, two big, bulky sweaters it was for Steve to wear. He lit a candle for all his dead people, and Stevie’s. He was ashamed he had no penny, but the box had a few in them. Maybe God would spot him a prayer?

That winter, things were desperate. Hitler had been on the move for over a year now, and war was in the air. Bucky could feel it, the same as he could feel a rattle in Steve’s chest, or the way his breathing would go all funny until he coughed up phlegm, then blood. This called for the most desperate act of love he could think of. It was a sin…but for all the right reasons. He promised. He walked right into St. Paul’s, lit a candle for Steve’s ma, then spread his thick, glossy wings as far and as high he possibly could, looked right at Jesus on the cross and said, “If this goes wrong, punish me. Don’t punish him no more, he didn’t do anything wrong.” Then he dumped out all the coins meant for candles, and put them in his pockets.

He never noticed the priest, in the dark alcove, watch him do the whole thing. He didn’t notice his own wings get a beautiful sheen, on just a few tips, where the priest said a prayer that Bucky Barnes be protected to use that very unusually full candle box money to take his only friend to Dr. Erskine.

The next morning, Steve put on five layers of clothing, and kept telling Bucky he was _fine_. Don’t waste his factory Christmas bonus on something no doctor could fix. Coughing, wheezing, wingless. That was him. Why fight it? Bucky didn’t even argue. He just got dressed and walked out the door, knowing his shadow would never be that far behind. They sat in Dr. Erskine’s waiting room, trying not to fidget. By the time they were let into his room by Erskine’s wife (rainbow wings! Steve would draw them that minute if he could), Bucky felt he’d used up a month of good behavior. The doctor shook hands with both of them, and instantly asked Steve to please go behind the curtain, disrobe, and he would meet him back there on the examination table. Bucky was in hell. It wasn’t that warm in the room, some cold stranger putting his hands on Steve, especially as he heard the doctor examining his back. Steve was making that low rumble in his chest, the one he made when he was trying not to cough…or cry. Dr. Erskine asked questions, _really personal questions_ , that woulda got anybody else slapped.

He wanted to, he wanted to…ah, god dammit. He walked right back there and turned the doctor around by the shoulders and shouted “YES, Steve Rogers has people who love him. HE HAS ME. And I may not be much, but his ma was a wonderful woman, and she loved with all her heart, and don’t you dare tell me he can’t never grow wings again because his ma is gone. Everybody’s mother dies eventually and we all still got ‘em. What the hell are we paying you for?”

Dr. Erskine smiled. “For a ten minute procedure that will be quite painful, and that, Mr. Barnes.” With that, he turned around, and… oh, my God. What had he done to Steve? Steve had blood running all the way down his back. He had it…everywhere. The doctor picked up a pair of pincer things and began plucking. He said, “This will hurt quite a lot, but you’ll be so much happier.”

The doctor moved methodically down Stevie’s back, using the tweezer things to pluck out these stuck wing heads. There were hundreds of them! He went down both sides, washed off all the blood, then went in and plucked a few he had missed. When it was done, Steve’s back looked like a mess of broken and tattered wings on a baby. Dr. Erskine looked up and said, “You may get dressed, although it will hurt quite a lot. I’m sorry. Then come out front.” When Steve did, Dr. Erskine was taking a few coins from Bucky and oddly ignoring the rest, saying he had a feeling he and Steve would meet up again pretty soon. As they left, the doctor stopped them and said, “Boys, it was simple. Sometimes extreme deprivation can make the tip of the wing curl into itself, if the person cannot believe they are worthy of love. This is not the patient’s fault. It is a medical condition with a medical cure. Those who say people with wing issues are unloved or sick, those people are prejudiced and small minded.

“No amount of love will change the curling, once the wing itself is bent. You needed to be shown that you are loved, so that I could find the ingrown pin feathers and release them. I suspect your wings will be quite fearsome, Mr. Rogers. Also, quite colorful.” He smiled and used his own wing to gesture them out.

They went home, then Steve did something he didn’t think he’d ever do in his whole life. He took off both sweaters and laid down on the snow. It felt so good, the tips of his wings had been lodged in there for a long time. It hurt now, but in a good way. A good way he still wanted a cold pack and aspirin for, though.

**

It was widely circulated that upon his release from Azzano, Sgt. Barnes’ first statement was a witty quip; the kind of repartee made for comic book heroes and their never-say-die sidekicks. That report is almost true. When the mysterious creature from above, with the metal prop and ridiculously powerful wings shielded Barnes as he quickly sliced through belts and restraints, the actual conversation was a little more personal.

Sgt. Barnes watched, in real time, while the man with bright blue wings with snowy white endings said “I thought you were dead,” as the tip of each wing flowed with a miniscule amount of red, now tracing every feather tip of his mighty wings. Barnes watched all of the love he felt for Steve, once again showing in the blood Steve had shed one painful morning in a doc’s surgery in Brooklyn.

He felt a tear slip down his face as he mumbled, “Stevie—they clipped my wings. Cut em to the bone so I couldn’t escape.” He was completely hidden from the world under a canopy of ephemeral feathers as Steve said “Nah. We don’t need four wings, Buck. One person, one set.” He set Bucky gently on the ground, guarded him until he was stable, which was confirmed when he heard…

“I thought you were smaller.”

 


End file.
